


Lies are Easy

by softkent (SalazarTipton)



Series: Locked Out of Heaven [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Canon, Angst, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Forced Outing, Gen, Kent centric, Kent's Birthday, M/M, lovers to enemies to friends to...., media, mention of overdoes, more like real marriage fake relationship, omgcp big bang, parsepositive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 07:58:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12744243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/pseuds/softkent
Summary: Ring, ring, rin--I’m sorry. The person you are trying to reach is not--Click!“Goddamit, Zimms!” he hisses at his phone. He presses the number again and waits for it to ring, but this time his call his cut off instantly. After all these years of being out of Jack’s life, he knew he wouldn’t be likely to pick up, even if he still has him saved as a contact and isn’t just looking at an unknown number--though the Vegas area code would probably give him away...Alicia told Kent she’d text Jack, but that doesn’t mean he’ll listen. Hell, when was the last time Jack listened to anything Kent-related? He sure doesn’t know and probably doesn’t want to either.pick up your damn phone! they know. CALL ME! - kennya.k.a the world finds out jack and kent aremarriedand they have to deal with the fallout.





	Lies are Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Seven-Year Itch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8995741) by [Idday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idday/pseuds/Idday). 



> This work has been a labor of love for so long now, it's weird to know this part is finished. This is my first ever big bang! I want to thank everyone that made this possible with all the issues we had and still made this journey fun and enjoyable. <3 I also want to thank everyone that looked over this for me as beta's as well as Kenzie for helping me with coding the chats! You are all amazing! Thank you to Mel for helping me figure out a title for this. 
> 
> Major love and kudos to [topieornottopie](https://topieornottopie.tumblr.com/) for creating fan-freaking-tastic art of this! It's good good I want to cry! I've never had someone willing make art for my fics before and I'm so glad it was you that did it first. You've been awesome throughout this journey <3 <3 You can check out the art [here](https://topieornottopie.tumblr.com/post/167568041319/art-for-the-omgcpbackupbang-2017-i-had-a).
> 
> p.s. to enjoy this fully, make sure you have author's work skins on (which is the default) or the text chats may be wonky.

“You need to get out more, dude. You’re talking to your cat again,” Swoops calls to Kent from the living room.

 

“Like I haven’t heard you talk to her every time I leave the room,” Kent shouts back. 

 

He comes back and flops down on the couch, throwing his legs over Swoops’ lap and balancing his bowl of hummus on his chest as he reaches to the coffee table for the bag of chips. Swoops gives him a look before he picks up the controller and hits play. 

 

“I’m serious. Oh don’t give me that look, it’s just the intro,” Swoops says when Kent looks offended that he was talking while  _ Bones _ was playing. “Besides, you’ve probably seen this episode like five times. Do you have any friends not connected to the team?”

 

“What’s so bad about the team? I see ‘em every day. Besides, with our schedule it just makes sense,” Kent says around a mouthful of too many tortilla chips. 

 

“What if something changes? What about the off season? You need something outside of your job.”

 

“Are you suggesting I’m getting traded?” Kent gasps before playfully kicking him. 

 

They’ve talked through Kent’s fears of being traded before his contract’s up, and the unlikelihood of that happening in camp four seasons ago, but that didn’t stop Kent from getting worried about it time and time again. Now, with his contract ending in the very near future, no matter how many times Swoops explains that Kent’s had each of his contracts renewed, that the Aces may not be the brightest at making team decisions sometimes, but they would never be dumb enough to get rid of their front man and captain that has lead them to multiple Cups, and they sure as hell wouldn’t want Kent as an opponent, he still harbors his worries. 

 

Swoops rolls his eyes and looks back at the screen. “Don’t be ridiculous, Parser. Just think about it, alright? And watch your damn show.” 

 

Since Kent’s first season in the NHL, the Aces have been his safe place, his home, his family. When he’d had a tough time transitioning to the lifestyle his first season with Jack shutting him out. Kent and Swoops, the rookies, lived with a veteran, Shinny. It gave Kent a little support while transitioning to the NHL lifestyle and an adult to put him in line when he wallowed. Eventually, Swoops and he got an apartment together, but still went over to Shinny’s for advice or decent cooking. Through injuries, bad luck streaks, and personal bullshit Kent and Swoops have supported each other side-by-side for  _ years _ . 

 

“You say ‘your show’ like you totally aren’t into this too,” Kent says. In reply, Swoops pushes Kent’s feet off of him and grabs the remote to turn the volume up higher. 

 

They spend the night in rewatching episode after episode of  _ Bones _ that they’ve watched together countless times before. On the episodes they can’t quite remember who the bad guy is, they make bets on whodunnit. Swoops wins every single one. 

 

Around eleven o’clock, Kent kicks Swoops out of his place joking that he’s a cheater because there’s no way he knew it was the mom all along. Swoops slowly, not too concerned with Kent’s accusations, says goodbye to a sleepy Kit and pulls on his athletic sandals that he lovingly calls his flops. 

 

“Parse, I expect to see you at morning practice. None of this ‘but I’m injured’ bull. Convince the coaches to let you at least put on a no-hit jersey, ‘ight?” 

 

“Awe, do you miss playing with me that much, Swoopsie?”

 

Swoops glares at him for the nickname and slowly closes the door moving inch by inch to maintain awkward, creepy eye contact for as long as possible. When the door clicks shut they can each hear the other burst out laughing on the other side. 

 

Kent shuts everything off before bending over the back of the couch to coo at Kit, who is way more interested in sleeping than appreciating his love for her. He kisses her quick on the head before she gets upset with him and drags his feet to his bedroom. 

 

_ BANG! BANG! BANG!  _

 

_ Kent felt his arm protest each time he rammed back into the bathroom door. He called out. He screamed, but no one answered--Jack didn’t answer. The door fell away and there he was on the cold tile curled in on himself. He knelt down next to him, hands shaking.  _

 

_ “Wake up. Please, please, please, Zimms,” Kent pleaded through his sobs. “Wake up!” _

 

Kent jolts up out of his bed. He makes it to his ensuite before his stomach upturns and painfully knots as he retches into the toilet. He grips at his stomach as it convulses. His throat, mouth, and nostrils burn. All he can taste or smell is that acrid afterburn sticking to his gums and nose hairs.

 

After the little liquid he had in his stomach is gone and the dry heaving subsides, he wipes at his tear tracks. He manages to scoot over to the sink and pulls himself up. 

 

The cold water he splashes on his face feels like it’s a universe away. So does Kit, who’s rubbing against his ankle. In the mirror, the harsh light makes the circles under his eyes look purple. His hair in disarray from thrashing against his pillow, though it’s usually all over the place even when he tries to tame his damn bangs. His cowlick is plastered to his forehead with sweat. Even without his glasses on, Kent can tell he looks worse than he does in a game seven playoff run.

 

His hands shake as he picks up his toothbrush; they shake as he turns off the water; they shake when he falls back into his bed. 

 

Kit jumps up onto the pillow next to him. Kent holds her paw, petting the soft, fluffy tufts between her toes until he manages to fall back asleep curled in on himself.

 

Most days everything is fine. Kent wakes up, goes to the rink, has team meetings or work outs or ice time or practice, maybe hangs out with Swoops, takes care of Kit, watches some Netflix (or Hulu, if he’s desperate), and goes to bed. Yeah, sometimes it can get a little repetitive and boring, but Kent does enjoy his life. (He’s playing hockey for a living, of course he loves it.) Roadies can be a little rough and losing sucks, but he’s got a family in his team. He has friends. He has Kit. Kent tries to think of himself as happy. 

 

There are other days, though--days that he tries to ignore and forget. He’d have a nightmare and be brought right back to his terrified, teenage self. The closer it gets to Jack’s graduation, the less Kent turns on any of the sports channels. Not all his bad days are about Jack, but he never makes anything better. 

 

Kent has friends and he’s practically the mother hen of the Aces, but, despite what the media says about his playboy ways, Kent doesn’t date. When he heads out to the clubs with his boys, he either goes home alone or continues the night at his place or another player’s for some video games and crashes. A few rookies throughout the years have made comments about him never getting any, but Kent’s convinced Swoops tells them to let it go. 

 

He only gets a few hours of sleep in before his alarm is going off, and by alarm, he means Kit dragging her sandpaper tongue over his fingers, trying to get him up to feed her. Kent blinks open an eye and looks at his clock.

 

“I still have twenty minutes!” He whines at Kit. She licks him again, clearly not caring. “You’re lucky I love you.”

 

Thanks to Kit’s helpful wakeup call, Kent makes it to the practice rink early for the optional morning skate. He’s only seen a few people on his way back to the locker room, each of whom he gave bright smiles and cheerful good mornings. 

 

Kent learned when he was little how to keep his emotions off his face. It came in handy when other kids in his class would tell stories about what they did with their dads over the weekend, when he heard the slurs in the locker room, when people asked him about his love life. It helps on mornings like this when he doesn't feel real--when his mind kept going back to his nightmares or even worse, all those happy memories that connected to the ring hanging on the chain around his neck.

 

Kent takes the morning to hit the gym with the Aces’ rookie backup goalie, Jean Richard, for a light workout before their game tonight against the Canes. Both being game time decisions after Kent took a hit a week ago leaving him a little woozy with his ankle twinging again and with Richard’s coming back from a cold, they were taking it easy.

 

The Aces picked Richard up as their third round draft pick and have been quite pleased with the results. When Shinny, a.k.a Kirill Parshin, was out for three games in November, Richard stepped up to the plate and earned his very first NHL shutout. The celebrations that night after the game provided his beloved nickname, Moony, after his pants seemingly malfunctioned while they had been trying to get him in the Uber. A few of the guys had complained about the name depressing them because of Harry Potter (Kent included), but it still stuck. 

 

“If you plan on making it through game one, you need to pack on some poundage, Parser,” Moony chirps Kent when his shirt rolls up during their cooldown stretches.

 

“You just wish you looked this good,” Kent quips back and flops down to the ground after he finishes his count. He gives his abs a slap for good measure. “And keep your pretty little mouth shut about game number whatever. As captain, I will have no one tripping one of Charming’s superstitions.”

 

Moony extends his hand and helps him to his feet.

 

“You think you’ll be ready for tonight?” Kent asks him as they’re packing up.

 

“I’m always ready. Too bad it’s not up to me to make the call.”

 

Kent nods, knowing all-too-well how frustrating it is to be ready to get on the ice, but the coaches won’t let you. He claps Moony on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. The coaches’ll make the right decision.”

 

When they part ways to go about their game day routines, Kent digs his phone out of his hoodie pocket and stares at the notification from one of his hockey news apps:  _ Falconers Announce Jack Zimmermann Signed for Start of Next Season.  _ He fumbles for a second--trying to type in his passcode too quickly to read the article _.  _

 

_ Zimmermann Playing Catch-Up, Eight Years Late _

 

_ Jack Zimmermann, son of hockey legend Robert “Bad Bob” Zimmermann, finally makes his way into the NHL. This morning, the Providence Falconers announced Zimmermann signing a two-year contract.  _

 

_ For those who don’t remember, back in 2009 Zimmermann withdrew from the NHL draft after overdosing. Kent Parson, Zimmermann’s former teammate, went first in the draft instead of Zimmermann which led Parson to three Stanley Cups among various other awards throughout his career and captaincy with the Las Vegas Aces. _

 

_ After taking all these years off to go through rehab and earning his Bachelor of Arts degree in History from Samwell University [graduating this May], Zimmermann will finally be on professional ice.  _

 

_ If you remember the events leading up to the 2009 draft as I know I do, we dreamed of one day seeing the fabled Parson-Zimmermann no-look one-timer on NHL ice, playing on the same team. But after Parson’s incredible success in what some would argue Zimmermann’s rightful place, is that old dream-team from Juniors now morphed into the next big rivalry? Guess we’ll find out next season.  _

 

Kent didn’t even have to check the byline to know it was written by one of the scumbags that made his career on dragging Jack through the mud after the draft. He closes the app with much more force and flourish than necessary. He knew this had been coming. People have been itching to turn him and Jack into the biggest rivals since Sid and Ovi, but haven’t had enough dirt to make it stick. Kent swallows down the lump in his throat reminding him that there’s no wiggling away from it this time. 

 

He tries not to be bitter about Jack signing with the Falcs instead of the Aces, like Kent had brought up that awful night back in November. Actually, he tries to just not think about it for the rest of the day. 

 

He realizes he doesn’t remember the drive back to his house for his pregame nap, let alone leaving the arena, when he throws his keys into the catch-all dish near his front door. Kent shakes his head and scrubs a hand down his face. 

 

When he first came to Vegas, he stayed with Shinny. At the time, Kent greatly appreciated not having to deal with all of the responsibilities of being an adult like apartment hunting and groceries, but he hated the lack of privacy. Now looking back on it, Kent appreciates the support he was surrounded by. 

 

Being freshly drafted with his first paycheck and emotionally unstable from, well, everything, Kent has no idea if he would have even survived on his own. And he wouldn’t fully appreciate how wonderful it is to live on your own instead of with goalie weirdness. He loves Shinny, but he’s glad they will never be roommates again. 

 

After sharing an apartment near the arena with Swoops for a good, long season and adopting Kit, Kent was ready to live on his own. 

 

Over the years, Kent’s two-story bungalow has become his sanctuary. He has all the space he needs with a little extra and is only surrounded by the things he enjoys and wants in his life. If he’d gone out and gotten a place of his own when he was still a kid, Kent’s sure he would have ended up in some high rise and miserable within a year. Now, Kent’s content with his two spare rooms for the guys when they need them and more than enough space for Kit to feel like the princess she is. 

 

“Just keep it together, Parse. You got a game to prep for,” Kent tells himself. 

 

He toes off his shoes and makes his way upstairs to the master suite. Kit is rolling around on the bed, unmaking it even further in an attempt to get his attention. He smiles at her. 

 

“Well aren’t you being a pretty little kitty,” he coos at her. 

 

She flips over and stretches before following him into the ensuite--knowing his routine. He undresses and throws the clothes into the hamper a little stiffly. Maybe that workout wasn’t the best idea. Kit perches herself on the counter and waits. He’s about to head straight to his bed when the glint of the chain around his neck catches his eye in the mirror. 

 

He already had to diverge from his pregame routine enough thanks to his old injury. One bad night and an article wasn’t going to make him change it any further. 

 

His fingers raise to follow its length down to the ring before he even thinks to do it. Kit stands up and tip toes around the sink while he unfastens the heavy clasp and slides the ring into his palm. Kit chirps at him. 

 

“I know, I know, oh-patient-one,” he sighs at her. 

 

They walk into the bedroom for their pregame nap. Kit curls up on the pillow next to Kent’s head. He buries his fingers in her long, soft fur and scratches until she starts purring. When they both fall asleep, a glint of gold is just visible through Kit’s fur on Kent’s ring finger. 

 

Getting back on the ice with his boys for a home game feels like having the windows down, driving around and jamming out to his favorite music without a care in the world. Kent’s worries about his contract, about Jack, about his life all melt away when he’s first on the ice during warm ups. He raises his stick, skating in a large loop while the crowd cheers him on. 

 

“At least you know somebody missed you, Cap,” Cinderella says when Parse joins them for shooting at Moony, who is beaming in the goal. 

 

“What are you talking about? That wasn’t for Parser. It was for Moony,” Charming chirps. 

 

The d-men laugh together for so long they miss both their shots on Moony, not because he stopped them, but because their pucks weren’t anywhere near the pipes let alone him. 

 

“Come on, Fairytale! Let the real players show you how it’s done,” Swoops says, nudging them out of the way to get his own shot. At least his is blocked instead of just missing. Charming and Cinderella roll their eyes and skate off to get some pucks in unison, the drift compatible bastards. 

 

Although they’re some of the newer of the guys on the team, this being their third season, they are an integral part of the first line with Parser and Swoops. They’ve been attached at the hip since they were first traded. Their actual names are Kyle Bouchard and Mateo Sorola, but after Bouchard managed to get off the plane without one of his gross-ass traveling slippers somehow, Sorola bounded after him with it in hand, took a knee, and slid it onto his foot. It was their third roadie a few seasons ago and they’ve been the Fairytale, Cinderella and Prince Charming ever since. They even dressed up as the two for Kent’s Halloween party. The whole team adores their weird, defensemen duo. 

 

Parser takes his own shot at Moony as the guys jeer him on. It clips his pad, but still makes it in the five-hole. He winks at him. 

 

“What were you guys saying? Real players?” he calls over to Fairytale.

 

Charming shakes his head, looking like he wants to flip him off, but doesn’t want to risk the fine. Cinderella, though, he risks it--slowly lifting his hand, giving him the bird all the way. Damn, Kent’s missed these guys. 

 

Kent’s heart beats in his ears, drowning out the roar of the crowd and whatever the linesman is saying. Every fiber of his is focused on the  _ thump, thump, thump-- _ watching the puck drop down on the ice. In a rush, he flicks it to Swoops, winning the faceoff and the flood of noise pushes his like a wave down to the opposing goal. His eyes flicker from players, blades, and the puck--predicting what the next move will be. 

 

Any rust the announcers undoubtedly were claiming would affect Parser’s game and the Aces as a whole is pulverized into dust when Charming guides the puck onto Kent’s blade with a resounding  _ thwack,  _ soon followed by the blare of the goal siren, just twenty seconds into the first period. 

 

The thrumming pulse of the arena carries over them through the first period, the second...When the buzzer sounds the scoreboard bursts with red and black confetti above 3-1. Aces win! The Canes leave the ice with heads hung before Parser takes his victory lap as the first star of the game.

 

“Seeing how well you played out there tonight, do you think you could have played in the team’s last game instead of being on IR?” one of the reporters butts in during Kent’s post-game interview.

 

“No, the coaches know what they’re doing. Though I always want to be on the ice, helping my guys, I know resting up and healing is the only thing that would help in the long run. Plus, they did just fine without me, huh?” Kent says with a flashy smile, nodding back to the team’s shutout against the Flames last weekend. 

 

“Do you think next season will be tougher with Jack Zimmermann joining the ranks?” someone asked from the back of the small group crowded around his stall. 

 

“Hey, we aren’t even done with this season,” he laughs, trying to cover up the tightens in his throat. “I’m proud of Jack for coming so far and the league’s lucky to have him joining, but I gotta stay focused on  _ this season  _ and my own team.”

 

Thankfully, none of the other reporters pick up the Jack Zimmermann ball and keep their questions focused around Parse and the Aces. Within a few minutes, they’re disbursing, leaving him to finally get out the rest of his sweaty gear and shower. 

 

Swoops comes over to Kent after they’ve both towelled off. Kent knows that look. He scowls before Swoops can even open his mouth to ask the question. 

 

“Oh, come on! We had a good game with both you and Moony back. Everyone needs a way to celebrate you both being back on the ice,” Swoops draws out in a pout. “Do it for the teeeeeam, buddy!”

 

“Since when is getting shitfaced for the team?”  _ Since always,  _ Kent supplies for himself. He doesn’t want to admit defeat, though he knows there’s no way of him getting out of a least one toast in one bar. He flops down in his stall and sighs. “Fine, but I get to pick the place.”

 

Swoops claps him on the shoulder and wiggles his eyebrows at him. It’s gonna be a long night, Kent knows, but at least it’ll keep his mind off of that damn article and the possibility of another nightmare. He rarely has them after drinking, anyway. 

 

At a low key club on the other side of the city, Kent settles into a booth with Shinny and Charming. They all see Cinderella make a fool of himself trying to dance with three women at once, managing to spill on drink on himself in the process. They each reach out for the tray of shots in the middle of the table and knock one back. 

 

Swoops leans in over the back of the booth and yell-whispers, “what’s shot worthy this time?”

 

The Aces drinking game has had many iterations throughout Kent’s time in the NHL, but the current one is his favorite. Spilled drink? Shot. Over-the-top bro-love? Shot. Witnessing someone getting turned down? Sip. Gratuitous grinding? Sip. Media disaster in the making? Shot. Pictures of Kit? Kent has to take a shot. Last time he looked at the whiteboard in his kitchen with all the different rules, there were over fifteen shot-worthy things and just five worth sips. Clearly he needs to start monitoring his guys’ poor livers. 

 

After their night of mini reunion and victory and nursing the hangovers the next day, the Aces season wraps up in success. They ride out the last few games knowing they’ve got their playoff spot waiting for them making it a lot more fun, less stressful with the looming shadow of playoff-hell. For Kent, that looming shadow also including Jack’s impending graduation. 

 

Kent turns off his phone the morning of the round two, game five against Anaheim. He needs to keep his head on the ice, on his team, on himself. Swoops doesn’t ask why he slides his phone into his bag and zips it up before they head to the rink. Maybe he knows why Parser’s so on edge, maybe he doesn’t, but he knows better than to think Swoops hasn’t been paying attention to the pending headlines:  _ Zimmermann to Graduate with Honors; From Collegiate to Professional: Zimmermann earns Bachelor's; What good’s history in hockey? _

 

Okay, maybe not those headlines. In all honesty, Swoops is probably paying closer attention to the ones questions Parser’s ability as a captain and also as a player--as if he hasn’t proved himself time and time again. This morning an article came out using bogus statistics to try and say the Aces are being held back by not having traded Kent off to who-knows-where years ago. 

 

_ Tell that to my cup rings and trophies, _ Kent scoffed when he first came across it as he was brushing his teeth after team breakfast. Swoops must have heard him. 

 

When they hit the ice in front of Anaheim's own home crowd, they skate like devils trying to burn circles into the ice. Parser’s never seen Swoops dodge and weave around players like this before. The energy pulsing off of his guys crackle with each beastlike, bloody smile at the opposition after a hit; every celly seems to ripple through them all giving them a second--a third--a fourth wind. In the end, not a single Ace expect anything but a shutout and they aren’t disappointed. 

 

Kent’s so high in the clouds he’s actually taken by surprise when some reporter feels the need to bring up Jack fucking Zimmermann instead of letting him live in the hype and gruelling stress of the play offs. His eye roll is all over Twitter by the time he’s finally taking his phone out of his bag when he’s back in his gameday suit. 

 

The Aces make it to the conference finals through sweat, blood, and more injuries than Kent wants to think about just to lose in game six to Chicago.  _ Six games, six goddamn games _ \--that’s all Kent can think about as he packs away his stall; does his exit interview full of regret and words for next season with genuine thanks to his guys for getting them so far this year.

 

In a muddled blur after wishing his boys a good summer during their traditional end-of-season get-together, Kent cleans up his place, packs, gets Kit into her carrier, and heads to the airport. 

 

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

 

Flying back to Binghamton, New York is always the worst part of end-of-season for Kent. Firstly, there’s always some terrible layover somewhere that’s either too long or way too short where he almost misses the plane because he needs to be at Gate G 28 when he lands at Gate C 9. Secondly, if his season ends early there’s a chance the Binghamton airport will just be closed for that entire month because of how freaking tiny the thing is so he has to fly into Albany or some random, just-as-tiny airport in Pennsylvania somewhere. Thirdly, though he has Kit with him in her carrier on the flights and far more entertainment possibilities than even he could ever get through, he somehow finds the time to stare out the plane window and think way too hard about his performance in the season, how he even got here in his life, what’s even the point of being a professional athlete, and somehow every single awful topic he toddles around swirls in the center of the maelstrom that is Jack in his head. 

 

This time around, Kent gets a flight to Binghamton with no problems. The way there he has minimal airport-related incidents. One woman recognized him mid-flight (which is always  _ such  _ a joy), but that was the worst of it. 

 

With his bag slung over his shoulder and Kit in his other hand, he made it over to the baggage claim where his mother always waits for him, only this time in this small, cramped, and nearly barren airport Janice Parson is nowhere to be found. 

 

Kent pulls out his phone and waits for the luggage to make it off the plane and onto the conveyor belt.  _ Hey, just landed. Where you at?  _ he types out and hits send. 

 

The last time his mom was late to pick him up was back before he went to Montreal for Juniors at the Polar Ice Cap, his childhood ice rink. Kent had packed away his gear in his bag and dragged it to the front of the arena to wait for her to pick him up after practice. He watched one by one as all his teammates left as the minutes ticked on by. He tugged his hand-me-down Game Boy out of his bag and settled in, thinking his mom should be there soon. 

 

He played and played with the sounds of the college free-skate muffled in the background until the battery light flickered red. Through the lobby window he could see it was almost dark. Thankfully, the rink stayed open late so Kent was able to call his house with the counter’s phone.  His older sister, Kim picked up the phone and explained what was going on. 

 

Mom was locked in her bathroom crying and had been for the past two hours. Kent’s ears felt like they flooded with water as she explained what happened. Dad hadn’t come home from work, so Mom called to see if he was staying late again, but instead of reaching his desk at the dealership, one of his co-workers picked up. She explained that he’d given his notice two weeks ago and cleaned out his desk that morning. Kent tried to wrap his head around what he was being told, but the only thing that sank in was that Kim was on her way to get him. She said everything was going to be alright. 

 

Kent lets out a puff of air and adjusts his hat to hide his face better while he shakes himself of the old memory. He pulls his New 3DS out of his backpack and pets Kit through flap in the top of the carrier while the Animal Crossing loading screen plays. Before he even gets around to finding the money rock, his head snaps to the side when he hears the shutter of a phone’s camera. 

 

“Don’t worry. I won’t post it on Insta until we get home,” Kim says as she walks over to him with her attention on her phone screen. She locks it and opens up her arms to him for a hug. “Oh, don’t give me that look. You’re still cool even if you hug me in public.” 

 

She only started picking on him when he once, just once, didn’t want to hug his mom at the airport because fans had spotted them and if they hadn’t have hurried, it would have taken an hour for them to leave. No one in the family has let it go since. He rolls his eyes at her before he practically leaps into her arms. He’s always loved Kim’s hugs. Since she has a good three inches on him, she always makes sure to tuck his head down under her chin and envelop him in a warm, way-too-tight embrace. 

 

“One time, Kimmy. It was just one time!” Kent defends himself as she tries to squeeze the life out of him. 

 

“Damn, you really cut it close on your weight at the end there. Next season you better bulk up better,” she says into his hair before pulling back and poking at his stomach. “Mom’s gunna force feed you cake when she sees you.”

 

“Where is she, anyway?” Kent asks. He tries to act relaxed while he puts away his game, but he knows Kim must hear the ghosts of the last time in his voice. 

 

“I’m supposed to say she got caught up with a client and will meet you at the house and that there is  _ totally not  _ a kickass ‘Welcome Home’ surprise thing waiting for you,” Kim stage whispers. 

 

Kent shakes his head with a knowing smile. Kim is the last person to tell something you wanted to keep a surprise. Their mom must be expecting him to come in with his I’m-totally-completely-surprised-right-now face stuck firmly in place. She knows her kids too well to think anything else. 

 

They wait for his luggage and catch up. He asks about how the musical Kim’s working on is going and she asks about the team. They continue running through their routine questions on the drive home. Kent watches the trees whir by in a stream of green as they drive on the outskirts of Binghamton, listening to his sister describe a hilariously awful date she had a few weeks ago. 

 

After so much struggle when his father left, Kent’s mom lost the house. She couldn’t keep up with the payments on her own. They moved around the tri-cities from apartment to apartment and were relatively comfortable, but Kent always knew how she missed her house. All the times his mom would complement other people’s gardens and talk about how her peonies used to look next to the arborvitae with wistful expressions, he promised himself when he made it big, he’d buy back the house. And so he did. 

 

Kim pulls up the driveway slowly without saying a word. She knows her brother well enough to see when he’s caught up in his memories. He’s grateful for it and takes the time to appreciate his childhood home. 

 

It always seems smaller in person than it does in his mind. He can see himself setting up his street hockey goal against the house, though they painted over all the marks where he missed and scuffed the siding. His mom’s wrath about him ruining the house did help him aim at the time. 

 

He and Kim grab his bags and bring them in the house. There’s no sign of anyone, but he knows better than to think Kim was bamboozled. He sets his things down in the foyer and unzips Kit out of her carrier. 

 

“How you doing, baby girl?” he coos at her. “We’re home now. All done with the weird places.” He pets her gently and waits until she looks more at ease before lifting her up into his arms and cradling her against his chest. 

 

Kim clears her throat and thumbs back at the porch door. He nods and sets Kit down in the kitchen. Her food bowl and water are already waiting for her on the counter. She rubs on the upper cabinet as Kent makes his way to the back. He braces himself before he opens the sliding glass door.

 

“SURPRISE!” 

 

Kent plasters on his best surprised face and takes in everyone cramped out of the sightline of the door: Kaylee, Kent’s younger sister is perched on the back of the wicker with, whom Kent assumes is, her newest boyfriend; his mom pops out from under the table wearing New Year’s glasses; along the railing are his childhood teammates and coach along with their various partners. 

 

“Oh come on, Parser! You can come up with a more convincing face than that,” one of the guys says when the initial commotion dies down. 

 

“Yeah, I thought you had media training?” another jumps in. 

 

“Please,” Kaylee starts, “did you see the Aces’ holiday videos? We all know Kenny can’t act to save his life.”

 

Kent shakes his head and looks up to the cloudy sky with a bright smile, trying not to think about how if he really tried none of them could tell what he was really feeling. “Why do I bother coming home when this is how I’m treated?”

 

Kim comes up behind him and ruffles his hair. “Come on, now. There’s food and I’m not waiting on you guys.”

 

Kent’s thought long and hard about why he even comes back here to visit so much. He loves his mom and his sisters, but it’s getting harder to weigh quality family time against being treated like a kid again. He’s over 25. The time to ask where he was going and why and with whom was way past over. 

 

_ Maybe she’s just making up for the lost time from Juniors _ , Kaylee suggests when she comes over part way through the night to steal the frosting from his slice of cake after catching the look on his face when someone asks about his love life directly after mentioning the playoffs. He’d consider that a possibility if he hasn’t heard that one every year since he hit puberty. 

 

He wakes up slowly and readjusts himself on his pillows. He’s trapped in a tangle of blankets with Kit plastered to his side sweating like a pig because he forgot to bring up a fan from the basement, and yet that was the best he’s slept since...well, since the last time he came home. He reaches over to the nightstand managing to only slightly rustle Kit to retrieve his phone. 

 

_ What Happens with Aces… 12 new messages… 13 new messages… 14 new-- _ Kent scrolls up to where they start and begins scrolling. The twentieth message or so down, Kent hopes to all hell he’s still sleeping. 

 

_ Moony: parser fuck did you see this?  _ _ [ZIMMERMANN AND PARSON TRUE] _

 

He clicks the link and reads the tweet over and over again. It isn’t until Kit nudges at his fingers that Kent realizes he’s stopped breathing. 

 

_ Interning at the county clerk and i found this. #busted #nolookonetimer _

 

Attached is an image taken on top of a cabinet cleary full of files. Kent tries to look at everything beside the achingly familiar piece of paper that in the past six years since he signed it has felt like a ghost tugging him on a string with Jack: their marriage license. 

 

_ Swoops: send that to cassie asap _

 

Kent closes his eyes against the tears. His eyes, chest, throat--his entire body--feels like it's simultaneously being strangled and burned from the inside out. It’s out--he’s out-- _ they _ are out. That’s all there is to it. He always hoped he’d be relieved when it finally happened, but all he feels is terrified. Maybe it’s because he always thought coming out would be on his or Jack’s terms, not like this. 

 

Kit willingly comes when he pulls her to him and stays put, just purring, as he sobs into her fur. She doesn’t seem to mind him shaking them both. She just patiently waits until he’s a little more put together and lays down in his lap when he lets go. 

 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he whispers to himself and Kit. “We’re gunna get through this. We just--fuck! We gotta warn Jack…”

 

He gently pushes Kit off onto the mattress to her displeasure and pulls things out of his duffle in a flurry of fabric until he’s found his running leggings. 

 

“Where are you goin’?” his mom calls out from the office when he opens the screen door. 

 

“I’m just off for a run, Ma. I’ll be back in, like, an hour,” Kent calls back to her. He pauses on the threshold, turns around and pops his head into her office. “Love you.”

 

Before she can turn to respond, he runs out of the house. He keeps running down the road until his mind is no longer screaming at him with panic. “Come on, Parser. Keep it together. You can break later. You can break later. You can break later.” He continues the mantra under his breath until he comes to one of the lesser visited parks. 

 

It looks the same as it always has besides the fresh coats of paint added after each flood. He takes a seat on a bench looking out at the Susquehanna River and centers himself before scrolling through his contacts. 

 

“Kent! It’s been too long since you’ve called. Don’t you remember you promised to call more during All-Stars? The e-mails have been nice, but I miss hearing you. How are you doing? That was a good cup run; can’t always end how you want it, though. How’s your mom?” Alicia says when she answers the house phone. 

 

“Alicia, I don’t mean to be rude and you really gotta trust me on this. You know I wouldn’t ask unless I abso-freakin’-lutely had to, but is Jack around?” Kent pleads with his eyes wrenched shut, wishing there was any other way than this. 

 

“Oh, Kenny,” she starts in the same exact tone she used when Kent came to see Jack after the draft--that motherly tone akin to “oh, honey” when her child is vulnerable and brimming with confusion. 

 

“Don’t. I’m serious. This isn’t about--well it kinda is, but I need to warn him about some shit that’s about to go down.”

 

“What’s going on?” she asks, clearly now understanding how serious Kent is. 

 

“I can’t...It’s Jack’s place to talk to you and Bad Dad about all this, okay? But I gotta warn him. Can you please just put him on?” 

 

“I would if I could. Jack’s not here right now.”

 

“Can you gimme his number? This can’t wait.”

 

“I don’t know if he’ll want me to...but this sounds serious. I’ll text it to you. Is there anything you can tell me in the meantime? If this is as big as you make it sound should I involve Jack’s agent? Is it big enough for the Falcs GM to know?” Alicia runs through the possible people to be informed. All those years in the center of the limelight from her own career and her husband’s, she knows things need to be handled swiftly. 

 

“Let Bad Dad in, but I’ll leave the rest up to Jack. It’s not my place to say,” Kent says with a sigh. “...I’m gunna talk to my agent and the Aces once I’ve talked to Zimms, if that helps.”

 

He hears Alicia’s sigh on the other end. “Thank you, Kent. I’ll let Jack know to pick up.” There’s a pause before she adds, “and don’t think this gets you out of calling me very soon. It seems we have a lot more to discuss than I realized.”

 

“Thank you. Really. For now just stay away from any news stuff or Twitter or whatever. Also...check in on Jack. He’s probably gunna need you.”

 

Kent presses the number in Alicia’s text message so hard, it wouldn’t be surprising if he damages the screen or at least slightly hurts his finger. He takes in a long breath while he listens to the call connecting. 

 

_ Ring, ring, rin--I’m sorry. The person you are trying to reach is not--Click! _

 

“Goddamit, Zimms!” he hisses at his phone. He presses the number again and waits for it to ring, but this time his call his cut off instantly. After all these years of being out of Jack’s life, he knew he wouldn’t be likely to pick up, even if he still has him saved as a contact and isn’t just looking at an unknown number--though the Vegas area code would probably give him away...Alicia told Kent she’d text Jack, but that doesn’t mean he’ll listen. Hell, when was the last time Jack listened to anything Kent-related? He sure doesn’t know and probably doesn’t want to either. 

 

_ pick up your damn phone! they know. CALL ME! - kenny _

 

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

 

“It’s not your fault that this is happening,” Georgia Martin, the Falcs assistant GM, reminds them in the beginning of their meeting, breaking the stiff silence she and the Aces assistant GM, Cassie Rivera, walked in on Kent and Jack sitting in. “Whatever you both choose to do, I won’t tolerate any sort of apology for what’s happening or being who you are.”

 

“Thankfully, this happened during the playoffs, so hockey news is focused on the actual game instead of players, for the time being. We need to act quickly, but we have some time before the networks catch wind of this and bump it up over the playoffs news. We have some options to handle this situation with minimal backlash, and even some for possible gain in due time,” Cassie adds. Georgia nods and hands Jack and Kent the folders they came in with. “But we need to know what you both want. These are tricky and unprecedented waters.”

 

“Whatever Jack wants is fine by me,” Kent says as he leafs through his folder. For the first time since Kent entered the room, Jack looks at him, his expression just as unreadable to Kent as it’s always been. 

 

Over the past few days (or more like years) this has been looming over them, all Kent ever worried about was how it will affect Jack, not him. He’s thought again and again about what this will do to Jack’s freshly started career, his personal life, and his family. 

 

“What are our options?” Jack asks while still holding Kent’s gaze, though clearly speaking to the women in the room. 

 

“We can just ignore that any of this is happening, which, of course, will result in terrible backlash and hurt both of your images even further, and won’t stop any questions that will undoubtedly be coming your way,” she says. “You could make a statement, though the content all depends on how you’d like this to go.”

 

“Go?” Jack asks. 

 

Cassie adjusts herself in her chair before answering, “As I understand it, you and Kent are...estranged, yes?”

 

Jack shoots a quick, almost involuntary glower at Kent before looking back to Cassie and nods. 

 

“Right. So, you could tell everyone that, get a divorce if you wish, and go your separate ways. It won’t put either of you back in the closet, but it would help move on the path of separating your careers from each other. Though I’m sure you can imagine how that would make both of you look.”

 

“Ashamed, irresponsible, really shitty influences, the rivals of the century are a few that come to mind,” Kent chimes in. 

 

No matter what, he knows he’ll do whatever Jack wants. He’s caused the man enough suffering in his life, but that doesn’t mean Kent can’t give his two-cents-worth. He’s never been known for keeping his mouth shut. 

 

“So, you want us to lie,” Jack says bluntly as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. 

 

“The decision  _ is  _ up to you, Jack,” Georgia reminds him. She puts a hand on his arm. “Image is an important portion to your career and should be taken into account.”

 

“People already think I’m a party boy asshole, but this is your first season. A hit like that?” Kent whistles and relaxes back into his chair. Somehow, this is the easiest conversation he’s had with Jack in over five years. Kent tries, and fails, not to think about how fucked up that is. 

 

After discussing more options at length, Jack asks Cassie and Georgia to give them a moment to discuss this alone. Kent waits to open his mouth until the door clicks shut behind Cassie. 

 

“I don’t see why we need to talk about this. I’m up for whatever you choose, dude,” Kent says, again. 

 

Jack shakes his head to himself and leans forward with a long creek from his chair. 

 

“How can you be so complacent about all this?” he bites out. “After all these years of--of hiding you’re just okay with whatever? The whole time I’ve known you it’s been Parson’s way or nothing. What changed?”

 

Part way through Jack’s outburst Kent cradles his face in his hands and waits. His thumbs trail along the edges of his playoff beard he still hasn’t had the balls to shave off yet. The more fired up Jack gets about this, the more tired Kent feels. He doesn’t move when he starts to explain.

 

“Most the years you’ve ‘known me’ you haven’t wanted me anywhere near you. I try to break through your walls and it always ends up in yelling and me turning into an asshole. Consider this me giving in. All this--whatever this is, our careers--it’s all up to you. I won’t fight it.” Kent swallows hard and wipes the tears off his cheeks. He looks at Jack with no guards or walls up on his side; he looks at Jack as just himself. 

 

“If you...if you want me to sign divorce papers, I won’t fight it. If you want me to keep my mouth shut, I will. Want me to spin some ridiculous story about all this to the media--whatever you choose, Jack, I’ll do it.” Kent stops trying to fight off the tears. He powers through without a single waiver in his voice, though he does break eye contact with him as he finishes, “Jack...I can’t bare to hurt you anymore than I already have.” 

 

By now, Kent isn’t just crying about their relationship and their situation, their past and their fuck-ups. The unrelenting stream of tears running down his face and getting dispersed by his facial hair before they can soak into the collar of his button down are for all the things Kent wishes he could have been for both himself and for Jack. Kent doesn’t know how Jack’s reacting to his unexpected openness because he can’t bring himself to pry his eyes from the table. 

 

The only sound permeating through the room is the soft clicking of the blinds above the AC unit as they sway in the breeze. Not knowing what to do with the poignant silence between them and that faint clicking of plastic, Kent does what he always does to keep his hands occupied: with a practiced motion, he tugs the chain around his neck from under his shirt and fiddles with his ring. The familiar weight and feel of it clears out his mind so he’s able to sit their in silence while Jack deliberates without opening his mouth again to make things worse, like he somehow always does.

 

“We’ll make a statement and maybe hold a presser, but I can’t answer any questions about...us, at least not yet,” Jack says in a steady, yet soft tone. Kent looks up to find Jack’s eyes just as red as Kent’s probably are from crying. He can make out the sheen of the tear tracks tracing his lips as they move. 

 

“I’m just starting my career, and I--we--need to turn this into a positive for us and all those that need this representation. I refuse to look ashamed or act like this is something that should be hidden.”

 

Kent clears the constriction of emotions he doesn’t know how to put into words out of his throat. 

 

“You know this means we’ll have to be seen together, spend time together,” Kent points out, trying to hide the hope in his voice and the curve of his lips. 

 

“There are worse ways to spend my time,” Jack deadpan jokes. 

 

A laugh forces itself out of Kent, who’s completely caught off guard by what he’s hearing. Going into this meeting, he was sure this would be  _ the most dreaded day  _ of his life: Jack serving his divorce papers. Instead, he hears Jack Zimmermann himself choosing to publicly talk about them as an  _ us  _ and spend time with him--all Kent’s ever dreamed they could someday have.

 

When Georgia and Cassie come back in to hear their decision and work out the details, Kent feels like he’s floating underwater--suspended in one of the most comforting ways imaginable yet dangerously far beneath the surface. 

 

Within the day, Georgia and Cassie somehow manage to put together an inter-establishment press conference for Kent to address the press with Jack at his side, although he voiced his concern relating to his anxiety about speaking at the event, so Kent will be the only one responding to any of the questions. As far as Kent is concerned, any press or people ruffled by Jack’s decision can suck his big toe. Kent would stop the media from ever putting pressure on Jack again, if he could. 

 

“Mr. Parson would like to make a statement before taking any questions. Mr. Zimmermann won’t be answering any questions at this time. All questions should be addressed to Mr.Parson,” Georgia says before she steps back from his mic and give Kent the go-ahead. 

 

He clears his throat, leans forward to the edge of his chair, and breathes in slow before he begins:

 

“For years now--half our lives, really--Jack and I have kept our personal lives to ourselves for various reasons. We appreciated our privacy, but always knew that someday it would be brought to an end against our will. In my opinion, being forcefully outed is up there on the list of the worst things you can do to another person, but since it’s out of our control, we want to do the most we can with what we’ve been given. 

 

“To all out fans out there, those with dreams of joining the NHL, anyone scared of their sexuality or gender identity holding them back, know that it hasn’t held us back. We hope to set good examples of what you can accomplish even with bigotry around you. We’ll also strive to help diminish that bigotry and help give you hope. 

 

“Jack is a bisexual man that has overcome years of both internal and external trials to get where he is today: about to start his first of many seasons in the NHL with a Bachelor’s degree under his belt. And I’m a gay, demisexual man with three Stanley Cups, a room full of awards, an NHL captaincy, and a pretty banging husband.” He pauses to let the reporters laugh before getting into a more serious tone. 

 

“Being part of the LGBTQIA+ community doesn’t hinder you; it can give you the support and strength to reach higher goals that you ever imagined.

 

“I’ll start taking questions now,” Kent finishes his statement. He settles back against his chair as the reporters start shouting to be called upon. In a show of solidarity-- _ at least to the crowd _ , Kent thinks--Jack places his hand over Kent’s on the table for a brief moment and squeezes. Kent gives him a side smile and calls on someone.

 

“Why did you hide this for so long?”

 

He nods, having fully expected this question to pop up early on. They had talked about how to answer during their pre-presser game plan, or so Kent called the little meeting he and Jack had before coming in this bullpen. 

 

“We prefer to keep our private lives to ourselves. There was no benefit to us announcing our relationship. We understood the possible reactions to our sexualities in the hockey world and just the world in general. When in the hockey spotlight, we want it to be about hockey, not about our private lives,” Kent sums up. 

 

He already feels like he’s talking himself in circles though he usually only feels like that when the pressers are nearing the end. It’s going to be a long day. 

 

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

 

What Kent had expected to be a relaxed summer of keeping his head down and out of the media to ensure being resigned to the Aces midseason without any issues turns out to be a blur of meetings, media, and marriage talk. Jack, the Falconers, the Aces, and Kent all play musical chairs trying to make Meet the Spouse videos for both teams. 

 

Over a few weeks, Kent spends more time with Jack than he has in the last six years of their marriage. They go to meetings and pressers together, though Jack still isn’t ready to be the one fielding questions; Kent doesn’t blame him. They’ve become a major story for the sports world as a whole. You know it’s serious when ESPN actually runs a hockey-related story. 

 

The first bi and gay (and demi, hello) out players in the NHL and to top it all off, in a long-term secret relationship. Media teams were frothing at the mouth to run story after story on them. Hell, even Buzzfeed put together a roll of pictures of them back in the Q through now. 

The one thing in all of this that Kent never expects Jack to do is, of course, one of the things the man is adamant about: an ad campaign. Now looking back, Kent realizes he should have seen this coming. In all the time he's known Jack, his problem with being out there with the media is when it's on their terms like in interviews and post-game pressers. With an ad campaign, Jack gets to decide who he's working with, what's being shown for the most part, and most importantly of all, it's not really about him--it about the product. With all that being said, Kent still doesn't know how Jack thought it would be a good idea to let Kent pick the actual company they work with. They both should have seen this coming. 

 

They meet up in NYC and go to the location of the shoot without saying a word to each other besides a curt hello. Once they're out of the car, Kent blows out a puff of air staring up at the building. 

 

"You sure you're up for this?" Kent asks. Only now did he realize what a poor choice Calvin Klein was since Jack was doing this with him. He knows that personally, an underwear ad is right up his alley: showing off his body and getting free boxers out of the deal, maybe a dining event or drinks when it's released, but Jack? How did Kent let it slip his mind how he used to feel about being so exposed to the world and how unsure he felt in his own skin, about his stretch marks. Kent feels like a complete asshole, as per usual.

 

"You better not be backing out now. This was your idea," Jack says with a blank expression, also taking in the size of the building. 

 

"No I'm not--I just don't want you to be uncomfortable. If you are we can cancel the whole thing. We don't need to do anything you don't want to. I'm sure you'd like to be in a Tim Horton's ad or something instead of this. Oh god, especially with your mom and her career and you're already compared to your dad's," Kent rambles on as he discovers newer reasons why this is the worst idea he's ever had in his life--even worse than telling the rookies this past season how much Swoops like to talk about games beforehand if they were a little nervous. He's still amazed no one died after that blowout. "I'm cancelling this right now. How did you let me get this far? What the fuck, I know I'm an asshole, but I wouldn't do this on purpose. You could have--"

 

"Kenny," Jack says sternly, turning towards him and grabbing his shoulder in an attempt to stop him from talking anymore. "I am fine with this. If I wasn't, we wouldn't be here. Leave it at that."

 

He takes his hand back and starts walking towards the building. Kent blinks after him and runs a little to catch up. Kent's not sure if it's Kent or Jack that initiates their fingers twinging together when they reach the lobby. They keep holding hands yet don't say another word to each other as an intern leads them to hair and makeup. 

 

Kent keeps his mind occupied from his terrible choices and how weird Jack is acting by talking to the woman working with his hair. After the initial comments about how unruly his bangs are complete with a laugh and chirping from Jack about it, Kent and her start talking about their cats. She's done before he can finish describing how Kit sleeps when he makes the bed too tight for her to muss up the sheets and pillows to her liking. 

 

"All set. Talk about handsome," she says, spinning him around so he can see himself. He picks his glasses up off his lap and slides them on to appreciate the sexy disheveled state of his hair. "I bet Kit is conflicted when you two can actually sleep in the same bed, huh? Less room for her, but her other dad is around."

 

"Uh, yeah," Jack eloquently covers. "But she's his little girl, so she always gets her way, the pampered fluff ball."

 

"How dare you talk about  _ our _ little girl like that?" Kent jokes back, feigning offense. 

 

She laughs and leaves them to get changed into the boxer briefs hanging on the back of the door. Jack gets up without protest and plucks his pair off the hanger and holds them up to himself. 

 

"I'm surprised they could actually find a pair that could fit your ass, Zimms," Kent chirps, getting up to fetch his own. 

 

He hopes to keep this light joking up instead of letting it shatter back into stiff silence between them. Jack shoots him a leveling look, but Kent doesn't miss the smile playing at the corner of his mouth when he looks down to toe off his shoes. 

 

"We don't know they fit yet." 

 

Kent nearly does a double take, but manages to keep his cool. Taking the hanger off his own wardrobe piece gives him time to focus on keeping the conversation going instead of freaking out about fucking it up...that is until Kent strips off his shirt with his back to Jack and hears him gasp a soft “ _ oh _ .” He snaps his head back to see what on earth could be the reason for that sound. Jack's eyes are trained on the left side of Kent's lower back, near his hip. When he flicks his gaze up to meet Kent's, he wants the floor to cave in beneath him. 

 

He spins around, holding the boxers in front of him like a flimsy, sad shield. "You saw nothing," Kent says, desperately wishing Jack will just let this go. 

 

"Right. I'm a figure skater, Kit is your pet dragon, and you don't clearly have a tattoo on your back," Jack huffs out. "Just...let me see?"

 

Kent looks down at the floor with a tight jaw. He steels himself before turning around slowly and unbuckling his jeans so he can shimmy them down far enough for Jack to get a proper look at the first tattoo Kent ever got: two playing cards, a Jack of Spades tucked behind the King of the same suit. There was no way he could fake its meaning. This day really is one of the worst ideas he’s ever had. He jolts when Jack reaches out to trace the lines of the cards. 

 

“Sorry,” Jack mumbles right beside him, but doesn’t stop grazing his fingers over the ink. Kent leans a little into his touch, trying to make up for jumping away from him. “When did you…”

 

“Uh,” Kent clears his throat, “after my first season. Had the Caulder, comfortable with the Aces, made friends, but there was just...something missing.”

 

Jack smooths his warm, clammy palm over the tattoo--his rough skin catching a little. “Did we--”

 

They jump apart when there’s a knock on the door. “We need you guys in five, okay?” the intern says through the door. 

 

“Okay, thanks.” 

 

Kent finishes taking his pants off and strips down to his socks listening to the rustling of fabric behind him as Jack also changes. He pulls on the dark boxer briefs quickly, letting the band snap against his skin before bending over to pull off his socks. 

 

Kent's been through his fair share of photoshoots since joining the Aces from holiday calendars to magazine spreads to  _ Dude's Health _ . He's got the hang of posing and working with photographers--trying to give them what they're looking for. Jack's avoided photoshoots since he was a kid, but it's clear his mother passed on the model genes. Where Jack usually seems stiff and robotic or awkward during interviews, here he is smouldering, posturing, and thriving. Kent makes a mental note to ask Bad Dad to take a video reaction of Alicia seeing these photos when they come out. 

 

Kent watches while Jack gets through his individual shots. It's thrilling to be able to just appreciate another man in public without worrying about who will see. He never thought he'd be able to give elevator eyes in front of so many people--let alone making them at Jack, who is thankfully 110% focused on the camera. 

 

Since they were first together back in the Q, Kent enjoyed taking Jack in--his body, his presence, his eyes--on the ice, but especially off. It was rarely a sexual things; Kent's always been more in awe of how a boy, or man now, with that fire and desire on the ice can be so different off it. Now is no different, except seeing him in front of a camera is showing a side of Jack Kent has rarely seen in their years apart: soft and sensual. 

 

"Those were great, Jack," the photographer comments as she checks the viewfinder. "Let's get some couple shots next. You need a break first?"

 

"No," Jack responds with a small shake of his head. 

 

"Great. Kent? Could we get you up here?"

 

He stands quickly and shrugs off the robe they'd handed him when he finished his own solo shots to keep him warm. He pads over, his bare feet making little  _ pap pap paps _ on the cold concrete. 

 

"Before we start I want to get an idea of what you're comfortable with. Being freshly outed and being athletes, I don't know how hot or cold you want this to be."

 

"I'm fine with whatever," Kent says and looks up to Jack for his opinion. He watches Jack's adam's apple bob before he nods. 

 

"Sweet! I had an idea for a shot...are you okay with the world seeing that tattoo full-on?" she asks with a glance to his side. 

 

"Uh, yeah, I guess. Nothing to hide now, right?" Kent jokes with a nudge to Jack's ribs.

 

The photographer explains the shot she's looking for and helps them get into position. Kent is fully pressed against Jack, hugging him with his head tucked by his shoulder. He's painfully aware how long it’s been since they’ve been this half nude and this close. Jack wraps an arm around Kent and reaches up to his shoulder, pressing them closer together. His other hand gently pulls down just enough of the band on his briefs to expose most of his tattoo. 

 

Kent hears the click of the camera, sees the flashes go off around them though his mind is far from the photoshoot. He's lost remembering all the times when they were so new to each other that Jack had held him this close...and all the times Kent thought this would never happen again. He let his fingers circle lightly around the knobs off Jack's spine and savours the bitter wholeness blooming in his chest he knows isn't real. 

 

The clicks abruptly stop. He closes his eyes for a second to dismiss the ache in his bones and mind before pulling away from Jack. The photographer beckons them over to look at the shots. 

 

"Holy shit," Kent whispers.

 

Jack is peering over Kent's shoulder in some shots, looking ready to devour him. Yet in others his gaze is soft and looking down at the tattoo where his thumb is resting like a protective and loving caress to this symbol of them. Jack’s wedding ring is visible in each photograph against the fabric. She flips through the various shots slowly so they can take it all in. 

 

"If hockey doesn't work out, you can always go in your mom's footsteps instead," Kent says quietly. 

 

"You think so? What about my degree?" Jack jokes in his monotone. 

 

"Well, if you try to become a professor of History or some shit, I assure you the students will be more interested in that jawline than World War whatever."

 

It's easy for them to fall back into their old banter and ease with each other around other people. The facade is easy to bring up as long as they don't touch any serious or sensitive topics. 

 

“Alright, next pose I’m thinking Kent should be…” 

 

Kent just wishes they could sustain it when they're fully clothed again and riding the elevator down to the lobby. He wishes they could at least be anything but this blank arrangement for their careers. He'll always love Jack--he's made his peace with that, but he knows Jack doesn't want him or them no matter what the rings on their fingers say. 

 

They part ways with simple goodbyes and thanks that feel as empty as the handshake line after a game, though in this situation neither of them are the winner. 

 

"You headed home for your birthday?" Jack says after Kent turns to leave. 

 

"Nah, heading back to Vegas. You got plans for the 4th?”

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well, I guess I'll see you on the ice then. Call me if anything comes up," Kent draws out awkwardly, rocking back on his heels with a hand in his back pocket--the other mussing his bangs. "Or text me just...you know."

 

Jack steps forward and pulls Kent to him. He's so taken aback, he practically falls into Jack from surprise. When Jack wraps his arms around him in a tight hug, Kent hesitantly returns the gesture, unsure of what's going on. They stand their holding onto each other for a good minute. All the while, Kent can feel Jack's breaths against his scalp before Jack bends his head down and kisses Kent's hair. 

 

"See you around, Kenny."

 

Jack pulls away and waves awkwardly behind himself. He disappears into his Uber which then becomes one with the river of traffic rushing past. 

 

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

 

Jack fumbles with his keys as they walk up the path to the Zimmermann's front door with Kent trailing behind with their bags slung over his shoulder. Since all this has come to light, they have barely spent any time apart besides a few days here or there to get their own lives in order. 

 

Kent went back to Binghamton after their first press conference to explain what's going on to his mom and sisters. Kimmy went on and on about how she always knew there was something between them. Kaylee was pissed he never said anything about their relationship or even him being queer. They yelled at him for a while before hugging him goodnight, leaving him to face their mom alone, the fuckers. 

 

"Kent, I know you aren't the most open guy, but I thought you knew you could always tell me things," she whispered, looking at her hands in her lap instead of Kent. "Did I really do that bad of a--"

 

"Ma, no. Stop. This isn't on you. I'm an asshole and I don't tell you enough or talk to you about things and that needs to change. I've always kept this kinda stuff to myself because of the press and Jack and just everything," Kent rambled on through his own tears. 

 

"Opening up to anyone felt like my biggest fears were that much closer," he lied. She didn't need to know that he's been out to Swoops for years and how supportive he's been. "Now I'm living my worst nightmare. Everyone knows. Everyone..."

 

His mom brushed the tears off both their cheeks and opened her arms for Kent to lean into her. They sat on the couch for what seemed like hours at the time until Kent whispered to himself more than her, "do you think dad hates me now?"

 

Thinking back on that night while Jack turns is key in the lock, he realizes that he never mentioned that he and Jack aren't exactly together. Sure, they are legally married, but they aren't a couple. Jack's made sure of that. Publically they are happily married--or that's what they're trying to portray for the sake of their careers. The Parsons think they are _together_ , just like the rest of the hockey world. Kent curses himself under his breath. 

 

"Boys!" Bob calls from the kitchen when Kent shuts the door behind him. He rounds the corner and pulls Jack into a brief but tight hug. He whispers something to Jack that Kent doesn't quite catch with his French being so rusty.

 

Kent shoots him a bright smile and opens his arms for a hug of his own when they pull apart. Although he hates the reason he's here right now, dreading it even, Kent loves seeing Alicia and Bob. Even after Jack cut him out, they've always kept up with him, treating him like their own. 

 

"Hey, Bad Dad," he greets, clapping Bob on the back.

 

They're ushered further into the house and somehow it feels like no time has passed since Kent came to stay the month after their Memorial Cup win. Some of the furniture has shifted or been replaced or reupholstered, but the welcoming familiarity is a ghostly wisp of that blissful and crushing summer washing over him. 

 

Seeing how late their flight came in, Bob bids them goodnight and heads off to his bedroom, leaving Jack and Kent alone in the foyer with the weight of memories in this place threatening to crush them both. Jack moves first. 

 

Kent follows him up the stairs, planning on making his way to one of the guest rooms, but Jack pulls him into his bedroom instead. He sets down Jack's bag near his queen-sized bed and hears the door click shut and lock. 

 

"Uh, what's up?" Kent asks slowly, letting his own bag slip down off his shoulder. He waits for Jack to explain, but all he does is sigh and nibble at the inside of his lip. Kent rolls his eyes and walks forward to push his way past him. "Whatever. Night, Zimms."

 

Jack sighs louder this time and grabs his arm lightly--just enough to stop Kent in his tracks. "My parents don't know."

 

"Don't know what? After that press conference I'm pretty sure they know everything."

 

"They don't know we don't--that we aren't..." Jack lets his hand fall from Kent's arm and walks over to his bed with his head hung and hands on his hips. "I haven't told them we aren't actually..."

 

"Together? A happily married couple?" Kent bites out. Jack sits down grimly on the edge of the bed, head still hanging down. "Are you planning on telling them?"

 

Jack wipes a hand down his face. "I don't know."

 

Kent scoffs and feels his nostrils flare. "Well, at least you're honest with me right?" He flops down beside Jack, knowing getting angry won't help either of them--especially when they're spending the next few days here, together. 

 

"We can pretend, but they aren't dumb, Jack," Kent says, all the fire in his voice melts away in defeat at the hands of the shitty place they've put themselves. "They know you cut me out. They know we don't get along. Hell, I had to ask your mom for your number to warn you about this whole fucking thing." Kent sighs and flops backwards to stare at the ceiling. He tucks his hands behind his head. "Can't blame you though. Just realized I didn't explain that little detail to my family either," he laughs out. 

 

Jack flops back beside him and mirrors position, just like old times. Kent leans to the side so he can see his face: the little lines forming around the corner of his eye, how his dark hair contrasts the pale gray duvet cover, his eyelashes folding together and apart with each blink. Jack flicks his eyes away from the ceiling to look Kent in the eye. 

 

"Can we figure this out tomorrow? I'm kinda beat and just want to sleep for the whole summer right now," Kent says plainly. A tiny quirk of Jack's lips followed by a drawn out eyeroll tells Kent that, yes they can go to bed. 

 

"You can, uh, stay here. If you're okay with that," Jack mutters as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, facing away from him. 

 

"Whatever you want, man, but I get to shower first."

 

Kent isn't sleepy tired. He's just tired of this situation, the questions, treading so careful around Jack--just his life. He wipes his towel over the fogged mirror. The dark circles and pallor of his face show just how much everything is weighing on him. He spreads his lips into his signature media smile. Good, with that plastered on his face it's a lot harder to notice how hard his eyes are. The grin disappears as quickly as it came. 

 

He goes about his nightly routine a little slower than usual, putting as much time between now and sleeping in Jack's bed again as he can get away with. Brushing his teeth, taking out his contacts, patting on toner and moisturizer, and sliding his ring off his chain are so ingrained that his mind doesn't stop whirring around what the hell they are going to say to Bob and Alicia in the morning. 

 

Kent slips on a tee shirt and loose-fitting boxers, tosses his necklace into his upturned snapback on the counter, slides on his glasses and his wedding ring before letting out a puff of air. He nods to himself in the mirror. "You've got this, Parse. It's just sleeping."

 

Jack doesn't say a word when Kent steps out of the bathroom, doesn't even look at him. He just makes his way past him with a bundle of clothes under his arm and a steely stare at the shower. Kent ruffles his wet hair a little with the towel, waiting for the bathroom door to click shut, but it doesn't come. He turns around to see Jack left it open just a crack. 

 

It's a different door now from the one Kent kicked in all those years ago. The tile in the room has been replaced and so have the fixtures, but Kent still sees that closed door in front of him for a split second behind his eyes. He pushes his glasses up on his head and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until it stings more than the tears trying to come. Kent feels uncomfortable enough with everything going on; the echos of the worst moment in his life aren't helping. 

 

Kent didn't realize how much being back here would bring back to him. He also never in his weirdest dreams thought Jack leaving a door ajar would flood him with bitter relief. He shakes himself out of his head, flops onto the bed, and grabs his phone. 

 

The one thing keeping him sane throughout the circus of his life has been his group chat with his boys. He still smiles a little each time he reads the group name:  _ What Happens with Aces...  _ He scrolls up to figure out what the hell Moony and Charming could be arguing about this time. Oh, of course, soccer. 

 

What Happens with Aces  
  
sports mention in the chat?? FINE!  
Moony  
oh come on! you never call swoops on his bball shit   
Swoops  
that's cuz i never call parse out on his fuckboy selfies in the chat   
Cinderella  
pleeeeeeeeeeeeease  
Shinny  
we all know you go easy so he let you pet kit ))))))  
Moony  
hey shinny, what was it like playing on a team where the cap didnt play favorites?  
how could you think i play favs? after all i’ve done for you #kidsthesedays  
Missie  
don’t try to hide we all know swoops is side chick. does hubby know?   
Charming  
  
Swoops  
zimmermann better watch out  
why do i even talk to you people?   
Charming  
who you callin you people?   


After the tweet, Kent wasn’t sure things would ever be the same with his boys again. They never talked about sexuality or gender or anything like that. The most serious they got was giving shovel speeches and pep talks. It works for them. Kent couldn’t have been more relieved when he first saw Fairytale getting in Twitter wars supporting him. Each of the guys on his line has texted him or called him to make sure he knows he has their support. Even their call-up winger, Tady, sent him a message thanking him for not being ashamed--how it’s gunna make it so much better for guys down the line. Sometimes living in Vegas sucked, but Kent wouldn’t give any of it up. His team is his world. 

What Happens with Aces  
  
Moony  
why you trying ta get with parser when you could try for zimmermann instead? What i’d do to meet alicia  
careful. Maybe tomorrow at breakfast i’ll talk about what a dick you are   
Swoops  
ur in canadaq and you didn’t tell me? ruuuuuuude  
Charming  
canadaq  
Cinderella  
canadaq  
canadaq  
Shinny  
canadaq  
Swoops  
goddamnit!u know i meant canada!  


 

 

Kent switches over to Twitter while he’s laughing to just tweet “canadaq” at Swoops, hoping all the guys will retweet it too. 

 

“Having fun there?” 

 

He looks over his shoulder with his smile morphing into something softer and pushes his glasses up to see better. Jack’s standing in the doorway watching him with judging eyebrows and his Samwell tee shirt clinging to the places he didn’t dry off properly. 

 

“Just talkin’ to my guys,” Kent says with a shrug. 

 

He finishes typing out his tweet before rolling over onto what used to be his side of the bed. Jack turns on his side lamp before flicking off the lightswitch. Kent wiggles his way under the duvet, which in his opinion is tucked in way too tight. Who tucks in a duvet? He says goodbye to the chat with just a middle finger emoji and sets his phone on the night stand, not bothering to set an alarm. 

 

“Why did you call Papa that?” Jack asks so quietly Kent’s not sure he really said anything until he meets his eyes, waiting. 

 

“What are you talkin’ about?”

 

“When he greeted us. You called him a bad dad...After everything that’s happened between him and I, you don’t have--” Jack cuts himself off when Kent starts chuckling to himself. 

 

“Oh no, no, no, Jack. It’s totally not what you’re thinking,” Kent says easily. Jack just keeps staring at him. “Okay, so in my first season at some event--I don’t even remember which one at this point--I ran into your parents for the first time since...Anyway, I was so flustered seeing them I didn’t know what I should be referring to them as so I greeted them as Mr. and Mrs. Zimmermann. Your mom laughed, of course. And then your dad, oh god, he was so taken aback since I had  _ never  _ called him that before flubbed trying to tell me to call him both Bad Bob and Dad at the same time, so he said ‘no, Kenny! Call me Bad Dad!’ He took him a minute to realize what he said and joined us laughing at him. It just stuck.” 

 

“I can’t imagine both you and Papa being flustered, let alone at some event. Kent Parson, media darling, and hockey legend, Bad Bob Zimmermann, awkwardly meet after years of knowing each other and come out on the other side with a new, inappropriate nickname,” Jack says with a small shake of his head. His smile seems genuine in a way Kent hasn’t seen in years. 

 

“Ask your mom. She loves telling the story because Bob didn’t stop talking about his mess up for days.”

 

The conversation melts away to leave a warm silence between them as they settle in to sleep. Jack shuts off the light and climbs under the blankets next to Kent without either of them saying a word. Kent takes off his glasses and folds in the legs, tossing them next to his phone on the nightstand. 

 

He listens to Jack shuffling around beside him, within arm's reach. His weight depressing the mattress would make it so easy to roll onto his side and face Jack, but Kent feels too weird about the situation. Once the light flicked off, his tiredness fled to be replaced with realization: he is sleeping in the same bed as Jack fuckin’ Zimmermann, again. 

 

In all the dark nights that Kent allowed himself to think about being in this situation, he never could have imagined something like this. He’s realizing all the things he used to expect have been blown out of the water by some incredibly improbable reality he’s living in now--one where Jack doesn’t hate spending time with him, although it’s necessary and not just for the sake of spending time together; one where he pulls Kent into his bedroom for them to spend the night together in a completely platonic sense; one where the world knows about their teenage decision to say til’ death do us part. If Kent had ever taken hallucinogens, right about now he’d be questioning if this wasn’t all just some crazy-long acid trip. 

 

“Bonsoir, Kenny,” Jack says, turned on his side away from Kent. 

 

“Yeah,” Kent whispers back. “Sleep tight, Zimms.”

 

Kent always knew he slept better when he was at his mom’s. He didn’t know why, since that bed isn’t his childhood bed. Hell, the spare room he sleeps in now used to be his dad’s office before he left and they moved. If he slept better because he was closer to his family, that he could understand. Having the best night’s sleep since before the draft sleeping next to Jack shouldn’t surprise him, so he tries not to think too hard about it, or at all, really. 

 

The warm, soft strip of sunlight coming in from the space above the curtains wakes Kent out of his dreamless sleep as is grazes over his arm. He lets his consciousness settle behind the sleep in his eyes. He attempts to raise his hand up to rub his eyes awake, but it’s stuck. 

 

He peers out of one slitted eye at what’s in the way. His throat tightens at the sight of Jack curled up with an arm slung over Kent’s middle and his head on his chest with Kent’s arm wrapped around his shoulder, just like how they used to sleep on roadies together. 

 

Parse wishes he could just close his eyes and fall back into that warm comfortable sleep, but he knows himself too well to try. Once he's awake he's going to stay that way. Zimms, on the other hand, is the king of cursing mornings and sleeping in. Sure, he wakes up when he needs to for morning workouts, but if you wake him up before he's deemed precisely when he must, his wrath will be known...at least if Kent didn't bring him something like coffee or breakfast in bed. He learned his way around grouchy morning Jack quickly on roadies back in the Q. 

 

Since, still to his non-belief, Kent's stuck under a sleeping Jack, he accepts his fate and picks up his phone. Might as well pass the time waiting for Jack to readjust and keep him from overthinking the position they are in.

 

Cuddling up together in your sleep doesn't mean anything, right? Just look at Fairytale; those two nap all tangled together on roadies like it's their job. How many times during movie nights has Swoops fallen asleep with his head on Parser’s lap or vice versa? Hockey bros tend to cuddle. Totally...So, this isn't weird and it doesn't mean a damn thing, he tries to tell himself, but he glances down from his Twitter feed when Jack's fingers curl and uncurl minutely in the fabric of Kent’s tee shirt.

 

Kent tightens his jaw, steeling himself, and switches over to Instagram instead. All of the catgrams “Kit” follows are always good at keeping him out of his head. Too bad he can't listen to the video of Luna Rose purring, but knowing she's happy is good enough for now. He likes it and scrolls on down to the next post.

 

Between the warm weight of Jack and the sun brightening the room, Kent could feel how good today was going to be. The bed is cocooned in a blanket soft, hazy warmth like steam clinging to the air after a relaxing shower. 

 

He's around 30 minutes into social-media-and-internal-panic when he hears the rest of the house waking up. The door clicked shut down the hall and muffled footsteps stop outside Jack's door for a moment before continuing on. They fade out descending the stairs.His shoulders relax back down. Out of the memory from when this used to be a regular occurrence, he tensed up, worrying about being caught by either Bob or Alicia. 

 

He wonders about the food Bob is probably making in the kitchen and the Keurig machine he'd spotted last night in the place where the coffee maker used to reside. Maybe he'll end up dying here. It's wouldn't be too bad of a way to go. He already knew Jack was the only thing that could hurt him these days. 

 

Rest in peace, Kent V. Parson. He was too much of a coward to just get out of fucking bed already to piss and get food. He half-heartedly berates himself for the morbid thought, still not doing anything to get out of bed. 

 

Kent can't stand it any longer. If Kit was here begging to be fed he wouldn't have even lasted this long. He pulls his arm out from under Jack inch by inch while holding his breath. His arm is freed without incident, but that doesn't change the fact the he still has Jack all cute and cozy weighing down his chest. 

 

"Hmm," Jack hums into Kent's sternum, still fast asleep. 

 

His voice is muddled with sleep and muffled by the fabric of Kent's tee shirt, yet it's brimming with soft comfort. It sends a confusing shiver though Kent, breaking him out of this hazy morning bubble. 

 

This isn't normal; this hasn't been normal for them for six years. He wishes he could slap his past self for thinking staying in here for the night would lead to anything but awkwardness and possible disaster. When Jack's hand smoothes over Kent's stomach with restful ease, Kent finally movies into action. In a blur, Kent is out of the bed, snatching up his glasses, and closing the bedroom door behind him.

 

There's not enough time for him to see that Jack didn't flop down onto the bed, startling him awake. He didn't look to notice that Jack gently moved off of him to let him get up and watched him fumble out of the room with eyes wide. He didn't stay long enough to hear Jack faint "good morning" as he himself got out from under the sheets. 

 

Bob’s standing at the sink, rinsing his hands off before he turns back to the pan on the stove. He raises his head when Kent steps off the landing and smiles, waving his spatula at him in greeting. 

 

“‘Morning! Making anything good?” he says and meanders over to the Keurig, mulling over the various flavored coffee options. 

 

“‘Morning, kiddo,” Bob says. “Eggs. Want any?”

 

Kent nods and picks out the Cinnabon coffee, hoping it’ll taste like a liquified pastry far out of his meal plan. Going by the smell of it brewing, he won’t be disappointed. 

 

Sounds of the spatula scraping in the pan, the sizzle when Bob adds cheese to his mixture, and the steady stream of coffee pouring fill the air. 

 

“You sleep alright? Must be odd being back here, eh?”

 

Before Kent can answer, Jack steps off the landing into the kitchen with sleep ruffled hair and running clothes on. “ _ Bon matin _ ,” he murmurs to them. 

 

As Bob dishes out omelettes for the boys, they sit at the breakfast bar sipping their respective coffees, Kent’s extra-sugary mug of Cinnabon delight and Jack’s mug of plain black Timmy’s. It feels comfortable and easy--so similar to their mornings after Kent spent the night back when they were kids. All that’s missing is their not-so-subtle game of footsie out of Bob’s line of sight. They dig in while Bob makes Alicia’s breakfast. 

 

“It’s good to see you two haven’t changed. I know things haven’t been easy between you both, but Alicia and I are really proud of you for sticking it out.” Kent feels Jack freeze beside him when Bob pauses to plate the eggs. “Marriage isn’t easy. When Jack first told us about you two, we were livid and...well, teenagers getting eloped isn’t…We had bigger things to worry about with Jack’s recovery so we never really talked about it.” 

 

Kent splutters through a sip of coffee at Bob’s words. Jack told them.  _ He told them!  _ After all those nights of Jack insisting no one can know, he just blurted it out to his parent’s once he was out of earshot. 

 

He zones out staring at his food. The bite he just took feel like golds of mucus lining his teeth, tongue, and throat. Everything feels wrong and sick. 

 

He’d managed to keep his mouth shut, just like Jack  _ needed _ him to for years--years of suffering his loss without being able to look for proper support. Kent refused to betray Jack no matter how distant they were or how fucked up things got between them. All this time, he thought Jack had felt the same. 

 

Like time and time again, turns out Kent’s idea of who Jack is isn’t anywhere near the reality. He didn’t owe Kent anything, apparently not even to keep his own word. Kent swallows hard and gulps down more of his coffee which now seems sickly sweet, trying not to think about the other things Jack must have done over the years that Kent thought off limits because of the ring on his finger. 

 

Kent risks a glance over at Jack. His jaw is tight. His ruffled hair no longer seems sleepy and cute--it makes him look disheveled. Everything about Jack is frozen still, so tense Kent wouldn’t be surprised if he bent his fork in that unyielding grip.

 

Bob sighs and leans forward on the counter. “Working things out after all this time is admirable. We support you both, and if you need anything, just let us know.” 

 

They listen as Bob’s footsteps dissipate up the stairs. Kent lets out a puff of air and quickly stands. 

 

“Kenny, Don’t--” 

 

“Don’t. Exactly, Jack. Just don’t.”

 

He calculatedly puts one foot in front of the other until he’s standing on the back porch looking over the large yard that rolls down to the pond. One breath in...and out. Another in. Kent watches the wind rustle the flowers and collapses down to his knees. A shaky breath out.  

 

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

 

Being back in Vegas, it’s hard for Kent to really feel like anything that’s happened since the end of the season really did happen. Swoops and the rest of his guys that are hanging around the city before his birthday are just acting the same as they always have, besides the occasional quip or chirp about Kent’s no-longer-secret relationship. Kit is also the same: adorable, too loving, and moody. 

 

Kent always thought being out would change his life drastically. Instead, nearly everything is the same except now he has nothing to hide. He feels lighter when he remembers that he really is out. He’s always had people hating him for one reason or another, so the bigots are easier to block out than he thought they would be. Sure, there are still moments where his stomach drops when someone mentions something in the queer community around him. It takes a second, but once he remembers that it’s okay, he’s out, he relaxes again (usually with a soft smile to himself). 

 

“Hey! there will be no Captain-ing or Mom-ing today from you, bub,” Swoops scolds Kent when he picks up a platter of kebabs to carry out to the grill.

 

“Chill, I'm just--”

 

“Nope,” Moony says as he takes the food away from him with an extra  _ pop _ on the p.

 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Swoops says, readjusting Kent’s snapback as if he's a child.

 

His favorite part of summer has always been his birthday. Not only is it a time when he gets to relax with his boys and appreciate the people in his life with too much chirping and booze, but it's also Independence Day. His birthday is just naturally paired with fireworks, poor decisions and overzealous, misguided patriotism. What's more Kent V. Parson than that?

 

Since he joined the Aces, the majority of the team has always shown up on his doorstep with enough food for an army insisting that he's not permitted to do anything besides drink and enjoy himself on his birthday-- and this year is no different.

 

He gets kicked out of the kitchen and makes his way out back beside the pool, avoiding the grilling area by way of Swoops’ glare when he looked over. Cinderella is already lounging in a pool floaty with a can of obnoxiously generic and disgusting beer. The guy makes over 500k a year, yet can’t spring for craft beer? Kent shakes his head. When he spots Kent, he waves him on over as if him jumping in still wearing jeans is the right thing to do. Kent's convinced Cinderella did a little pre-gaming to be that far gone already.

 

He shakes his head at him wishing he could scold him as usually would about his poor liver, but he remembers his task for the day of enjoying himself. Thankfully, he hears the doorbell and leaves poor Cinderella to his terrible devices.

 

No one that comes to Kent's place on a day like today ever rings the doorbell, so as he makes his way through the glass sliding door, the kitchen, and down the main hallway, Kent can't imagine who the hell would be here besides some ridiculous singing telegram his boys would think hilarious to force upon him.

 

Kent trodes to his door and swings it open. 

 

"What the fuck," he deadpans at the sight of Jack fucking Zimmermann standing on his porch wearing a Samwell tee shirt, shorts, and the dumbest shoes Kent's ever seen in his life with a plain package under his arm, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hand, and a duffle bag at his feet. 

 

He steps aside for Jack to come in and shuts the door a little harder than needed behind them. 

 

"You can, uh, put your shoes there," Kent says pointing to the front closet. "I can take your bag upstairs. Swoops--Jeff--is in the kitchen and can point you to a vase."

 

He keeps his mind on the hosting basics so he won't have time to get angry or overreact to his  _ husband _ showing up unannounced to his birthday party with a bag making Kent think, besides all his effort not to, that Jack's planning on staying the night...and oh god, maybe even longer.

 

Jack hands him his bag and opens his mouth to say something, but Kent bolts up the stairs with his duffle before a single syllable could be formed. Call him a child or an asshole or whatever, but it's his birthday. Right about now, Kent wants to take Swoops advice and just party the day away instead of trying to be responsible. 

 

Maybe he'd feel bad for sending Jack in to meet his friends, his teammates, and their families on his own if this hadn't been sprung on him. He's managing to avoid being angry about Jack appearing here like he owns the place when Kent's never given him his address and showing up on his favorite day of the year, no less--holding Kent's favorite flowers; he's clinging to petty, though. He allows himself to be petty. 

 

He want to chuck this damn duffle into the guest room, but that's where Swoops is sleeping so he throws it on his own bed and trudges back downstairs, ready to get this shit show started. 

 

Kent comes into the kitchen expecting Jack, but the only person in here is Swoops opening himself a beer. 

 

"Better deal with those," he says, motioning to the bouquet next to a very dusty vase on the counter. 

 

"You skip the shovel talk and get straight to burying him?" Kent tries to joke. 

 

"Yup. You'll have to get a new husband. The guys are drowning him in the pool right now," Swoops goes along. He hands Kent the kitchen scissors. "Why didn't you say he was coming? I mean, I guess I shoulda figured, but he's never come before."

 

Kent begins cutting the stems of the sunflowers. The sharp, metal  _ snip snip snip _ of the scissors filling the empty air. He carries the vase over to the sink to rinse it off. 

 

"I didn't invite him," Kent admits. Petty is as petty does. 

 

"Oh, so this is some cute couple surprise thing," Swoops says over the mouth of his beer bottle. 

 

"If you say so," Kent says, this time unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone. 

 

Swoops quirks an eyebrow, waiting for Kent to elaborate, but it doesn't come. Kent busies his hands with the flowers and sets the final, cheery product on the island counter in between them when he couldn't get away with fiddling with each flower's placement any longer. He stares at them instead of looking up to meet Swoops concerned eyes. He hears the bottle clank against the marble countertop and slumps his shoulders. 

 

"You want him gone?"

 

Kent laughs, "Yeah, my _fucking_ _husband_ brings me my favorite flower for a surprise on my birthday. What an asshole."

 

"Whatever, dude. Clearly I have no idea what you're thinking right now," Swoops bites back. 

 

"You really don't!" Kent yells. 

 

Petty has left the building. At least Swoops is used to Kent's angry outbursts. At least since Dr. Decker helped them figure out why they happened and what to do about them. 

 

Once the words are out of his mouth, Kent looses all the fight he had in him. 

 

"I'm not mad at you. Sorry I yelled," he sighs. "It's just...forget it. Let's just go get shitfaced."

 

"One, you better be sorry. Two, I won't forget it. You know better. We're gunna talk about this later. And three, at least you're sorta in the birthday spirit now." 

 

The Jack Kent knew is long gone. He’s known this for a long while now. Spending so much time together all of a sudden has helped solidify that fact in Kent’s mind. This guy making small talk with Kent’s teammates and their families is barely recognizable compared to that tough, yet scared kid Jack used to be. Now he’s a man, capable of handling himself without Kent as a buffer or friend or verbal punching bag or love or whatever else he used to be for him. This new Jack just plain doesn’t need Kent...so why the fuck is he here?

 

Kent takes the sangria Swoops holds out and clinks glasses before gulping down a mouthful in a way that’d have Shinny’s wife smacking him upside the head. 

 

“Yo, Parser! You actually joining your own fuckin’ party, now?” Cinderella yells from the edge of the pool. 

 

Kent fishes an apple slice out of his drink and pops it in his mouth with a smirk. Swoops sighs and takes the drink back. Kent slowly strips off his shirt as the people paying attention cheer. He wriggles out of his jeans down to just his brand new Calvin Klein’s and bolts forward, jumping clear over Cinderella’s head with as much grace as Moony after his third shot, landing in the water on his side with a splash big enough to get water on Shinny’s sunglasses way over in his lounge chair. 

 

After his second glass of wine, Jack’s presence seems almost normal, as did talking to him like the husbands they’re pretending to be. There are chirps, but none offensive or uncalled for. His guys give them a hard time like they do with any other player and their significant other. The warmth spreading through Kent when Charming’s new girlfriend suggests Jack coming to the family skate in a few months has nothing to do with the alcohol. 

 

“How’d you two get married?” Moony asks, being met with groans. “What? Like you fuckers aren’t curious.”

 

Cinderella nearly falls out of his lounge chair trying to pull himself into a headlock. 

 

“Went to a courthouse, signed some papers. That’s kinda how these things go,” Kent replies. He nearly starts laughing at how bland it all sounds now when it was anything but, at the time. 

 

“Oh, come on!” Charming shoves Kent a little, knocking him closer to Jack in the hot tub. “Jack,” he begins in his sweetest voice. 

 

Kent internally thanks Jack with a small nudge to his knee when he shakes his head with a tiny smile instead of rehashing their wedding day to all of Kent’s friends. He’s unsure why, but after all this lying and acting and the world thinking they’re still really a couple, Kent can’t bare the thought of everyone knowing one of the few parts of them that were real, like that hot summer day full of butterflies, anxiety, and a calming feeling of home Kent’s been chasing after ever since. 

 

The day blurs into to early evening with more drinks and embarrassing stories than Kent dares to count. Half the guys are probably too hammered to remember all the little things they learned from Jack about Kent. Too bad Jack is nowhere near gone enough to forget all of Kent’s unnecessary touches and smiles--all the little signs that his feelings never went anywhere. 

 

Kent falls onto his bed groaning. He hears the door shut behind him, but doesn't move. He doesn't want to deal with the Zimmermann-shaped elephant in the room or anything that happened in Montreal. He's still drunk and just wants to sleep. 

 

"Don't suppose you just wanna go to bed, huh?" he asks into the bedsheets. 

 

He feels the depression in the mattress when Jack sits down next to him after changing out of the bathing suit in the en suite. Kent peeks at him when he's scrubbing a hand through his hair. 

 

"You're getting the bed wet," Jack comments instead of answering Kent. 

 

"Nnnggh," he grumbles, but still rolls himself over and slides his boxer briefs off and kicks them towards the tile in the bathroom. The resounding smack proves his aim was perfect. "Score," he half-heartedly says with a tiny celly that requires little movement, so he won't lose his balance and slip off the bed.

 

Silence falls around them enough to hear the guys still moving around downstairs--probably Swoops kicking out the ones sober enough to drive. Kent's glad on his birthday he isn't the one that has to make up makeshift beds for his shitfaced buddies. Swoops really is the best friend. Kent's mind is wandering to what he should get him for his birthday, almost forgetting who he's with. 

 

"Are you at least going to put some clothes on?"

 

Kent laughs. "What? Don't like what you see? Come on, we both know that ain't true. And this is my house, on my own birthday! Birthday means birthday suit.”

 

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" Jack sighs, standing from the bed. He goes over to Kent's dresser and opens up a drawer. 

 

"Sorry I'm not a robot, Zimms. I like fun and don't take every little things seriously, unlike someone," he huffs out.  _ Hey, Petty Kent. Long time no see _ , he thinks to himself. "Oh wait. Sorry, that was totally out of line. I forgot you didn't take this secret seriously. 'Kenny, you can't tell anyone.' Didn't realize your parents didn't count in that."

 

A drawer slams and Jack bends down to open another. Kent sits up to watch him. 

 

"What are you even doing?" 

 

"Trying to find you some fucking clothes," Jack says in a monotone, devoid of any of the anger Kent was trying to rile up within him, but he knows better. He knows his words are pushing Jack's buttons. 

 

"Oh, I see. Being reminded of your broken promises and shitty behavior make you not wanna look at me. Well, if that's what you wanted why did you come all the fucking way to Vegas? To my own fucking house?" Kent starts yelling. "How'd that conversation go down with Alicia, huh? 'Hey, Maman, do you have my husband's address? I wanna fuck with him on his goddamn birthday.'"

 

Jack slams another drawer shut and looks over his shoulder at Kent. Instead of the glare he'd been trying to bring out, Jack's face is nearly blank, showing off the sadness in those damn striking eyes, the hurt. Kent's shoulders fall. He fiddles with his nail beds, hands in his lap, looking away from Jack. 

 

It's always easier to press and pick fights than actually talk things through for the two of them--or at least that's how things used to be. Jack always met Kent bite for bite, but now? Jack isn't returning Kent's shots. He isn't even trying to play the game.

 

"That's...I didn't come here to fuck with you," Jack finally says. "I wanted...just forget it." He shifts, sitting with his back against the dresser and lets his head fall back to rest against it, his movements more languid with the assistance of the few beers he had tonight. "I'll leave tomorrow."

 

"No," Kent whispers. He tries to make sense of Jack right now, but the man hasn't made any sense to him in so long, and the alcohol in his system is not as helpful as one may think. "Why did you come?"

 

Jack hangs his head for a second before pulling himself up. Kent watches and waits for him to speak. He takes a hesitant step forward, but decides to lean back, sitting slightly on the top of the dresser instead of getting any closer to Kent. Seeing him chose to step away just a little pricks at the corner of Kent's eyes. He curses himself for drinking tonight. He's too emotional for this shit. 

 

“It didn’t feel right, missing another birthday of yours,” Jack explains, drained and looking tired. “The fourth gets brought up and I can’t help but think about you. I didn’t wanna spend another year waiting for a drunk call or text or whatever. I wanted to prevent you from feeling bad enough to want to do that, I guess.”

 

“You said you had plans,” Kent says, indignant. “Did you just straight up cancel on whoever the fuck to come all the way to the middle of the desert to make sure I didn’t bother you with a phone call?”

 

“For once I’m trying to meet you on something and you just--” Jack bites out, eyes lowering to the floor. 

 

His head shake feels more full of pity than anger. That’s not where Kent had wanted this to go. He wants the fire and the heat the used to have--whether in a healthy fashion or not. The one thing he  _ never  _ wants from Jack is fucking pity. 

 

Kent gets up and holds out a hand to Jack like he could pull back this tight feeling in the air--this heaviness surrounding them. He stumbles a little from the movement. Jack lurches up to steady him, both hands gently holding his shoulders, clearly avoiding any other place for his hands to land. 

 

He looks at Jack willing him to understand what he wants from all this, what he knows it’s going to happen. He needs Jack to know that still after all this time, Kent wears his ring for a reason. He never stopped loving him. He never stopped wanting to be in his life. 

 

Something unrecognizable to Kent in his tipsy state. He reaches out to brush a hand against Jack’s neck, trying to grasp what Jack won’t say and freezes when Jack leans down a few inches to press his lips against Kent’s. 

 

Kent only reacts when Jack’s hands threaten to move away. He pulls Jack in closer, returning the kiss. 

 

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

 

“So, let me get this straight--”

 

“Nothing about this is straight,” Kent interrupts. Swoops goes on, ignoring him. 

 

“You’ve been dealing with your husband shutting you out after he nearly died and wanting to never have anything to do with you without him ever explaining or asking for a divorce for, what, seven years? And you were shoved into the NHL with no support system--”

 

“I had my mom and my sisters,” Kent interrupts again. 

 

“Yeah, too bad they were across the country. Now, can you keep quiet for a split second, Parse?” Swoops sighs. Kent folds his arms, resting his elbows on the countertop and waits for him to go on. “Thank you. So, you had no support system while you were dealing with a major life change.” Swoops’ face is slowly fading from pink to red when he turns on Jack. 

 

“All while you got to take a step back from the world, recover, coach some kids, and have fun at college with your parents’ full support and understanding, knowing full well that  _ your husband _ was hurting and harboring your secret ‘cause you told him he had to.”

 

Swoops shakes his head. Kent hasn't seen Jack so strictly frozen in place since he spotted Kent at that damn party last fall. Kent hangs his head and rubs at his temple, willing his headache and this situation to fade away. He knows he could tell Swoops he’s out of line, and that he’d back down, but finally having someone on  _ his side  _ after all these feels too good to waste it. Maybe Kent’s still feeling petty. Could be worse, he could be the one yelling at Jack this time. 

 

“So while he was all alone, you told your parents all about eloping. Did you explain that you knew you were tearing him apart? And, hey, if you told your parents what’s to say you didn’t open up to others. Your college buddies know? Did they all laugh each time Kent came to you angry and hurt, seeing what you did to him as a big joke?”

 

Jack doesn’t move. His eyes remain trained on the bouquet in front of him. 

 

“Nothing?” Swoops asks the room. “Not even going to defend yourself? Deny what you may or may not have done? Fine. I’m sure you’ll figure this out. Been doing a damn fine job so far.”

 

He swipes his wallet off the counter and storms out. “Call me when assface is gone,” he calls back to Kent before slamming the door.

 

Kent gets up, his stool scraping against the tile floor, and pads over to the cupboard to fill Kit’s dish. Jack stays right where he is at his own stool with a distance to his eyes. Kent thinks he’s probably overthinking the angry yelling of an overprotective friend, but doesn’t bother consoling him or telling him to forget it. That hasn’t been Kent’s job since the draft. 

 

He goes about cleaning the kitchen in silence--picking up the cups and bottles scattered about in weird places, none of which were using coasters, while Jack maintains is statuesque position on his stool until Kit jumps up and nudges his hand. He lets out a low sigh a pets her. 

 

“I’ve got this. Go back to bed, Kenny,” Jack says without looking up from Kit rubbing against his thumb. 

 

Kent would argue, would insist that it’s his house and Jack has no place telling him what to do, especially after all the shit they’ve been through. Instead, he gives Jack a clap on the back and heads out of the room. His hangover wins out over yet another uncomfortable morning-after conversation. 

 

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

 

Swoops pushes Kent’s feet off the couch to make room for himself. He flops down and grabs the controller from him to pick out his own show because five seasons straight through of  _ Bones  _ is too damn much. Kent can’t help but smile at the familiarity of it. 

 

He’s always been worried about their friendship falling and breaking into irreparable pieces because of all the shit Kent’s kept from Jeff through their  _ years _ of friendship, yet here he is, acting like they always have. Thinking Swoops would so easily ghost him sits in Kent’s stomach harder than the empty bowl of hummus on the table. This offseason has been guilt central; he’s surprised he didn’t see even more guilt coming his way. 

 

Kent slides his feet on Swoops lap and waits for the conversation to come--waits for Swoops to ask some question and make him explain himself. He watches him flick through genre after genre section on Netflix trying to find something. Some of the trailers begin to play for shows when he inspects them too long, but Swoops flicks on by before Kent can get a grasp what they’re about. Then, he switches apps over to Hulu and begins his search again. Kent’s about to give Jeff a suggestion or something when the man finally clicks on something. 

 

“Fuck me! No!” Kent barks out in a laugh a little too big. “We are  _ not  _ watching  _ Goon _ .”

 

“I put up with gruesome and weird murders. You can put up with hockey, fucker,” Swoops replies with a wide grin. 

 

They get comfortable as the logos play on the screen, but Kent keeps fidgeting. Kit decides he moves too much to be a good pillow and climbs up onto the cushions, sauntering over to Jeff’s head and kneads the cushion before settling down again. 

 

“Is this dumb movie payback?”

 

“Are your dumb life decisions payback for treating you like an adult capable of not fucking up his own life constantly?” Swoops replies in the same tone Kent used. 

 

Kent crosses his arms and gently kicks Swoops’ side. “Hey, I’m not fucking up my life! One night of tipsy fooling around with my own husband isn’t going to fuck everything up. Why you gotta be so dramatic?” 

 

“Yeah, like I’m the dramatic one here,” Swoops mumbles with a pointed eye roll. “You don’t think this is gonna mess things up?” He sits up and presses pause, turning fully on Kent. “Dude, you’re my best friend. I’m just now learning you’ve been hiding like the biggest secret of all time forever and decidedly  _ not dealing with it.  _ Fucking him after a few months of pretending to be together for the media’s sake is pretty fucked up.

 

“And you don’t need to fake with the guys. Sure, the team as a whole doesn’t need to be all up in your business, but Fairytale? Moony? What happens with Aces stays with Aces. They’ve all got your back too.”

 

“Well, now I won’t be seeing him until the season starts up...or when that ad campaign releases. Time to deal. Plus, now I got you to help me through, right?”

 

Swoops punches him in the leg. “Fuck you, you’ve always had me and now you can’t get rid of me even if you want to.”

 

Kent smiles at him and pulls him down. Swoops flops on him with an  _ oof!  _ He wraps up Swoops with his arms and legs, squeezing him in a weird and very uncomfortable hug. He accepts his fate instead of trying to squirm free and pats Kent’s arm. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, you love me. Now, sit through this glorious film and enjoy every second of it,” Swoops tries to say with a straight face, but cracks up on the last few words. 

 

Kent lets him go and settles in to face his punishment head on with his feet back in Swoops lap and Kit climbing onto his chest. When the opening scene comes on, he can’t help but groan. Swoops tickles his knee, holding his foot so he can’t get away. He laughs harder than he’s managed since before the playoffs. 

 

“I give! I giiiive!” he yells. “I’ll watch this shitty thing!” 

 

♠️ ♠️ ♠️

 

Kent’s life over the last couple of months has been thrown in a garbage disposal, poured into a bucket, and was shaken, not stirred. All his worries about the unlikelihood of him being traded next season, getting along with his family for extended periods of time, and staying in the closet were so far out of his mind it’s like they didn’t matter anymore. With Jack’s birthday, Kent’s first season playing against him, the media eating up anything remotely connected to them, and the world about to see them both clinging to each other in underwear with intimate, sultry looks, he has a lot more on his mind. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much for reading! It means the world to me. Please let me know your thoughts/feelings on this in the comments. This is my first time tackling something so large and I'd love your feedback. 
> 
> This is the first part of a series, which I'm unsure how large it will become hence the ambiguous ending. If you have anything you'd like to see in further installments, please let me know in the comments! I'd love to include something for you. <3
> 
> Feel free to come find me on [tumblr](http://softkent.tumblr.com/)


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